


Promises

by RivalSilver



Category: Pocket Monsters: HeartGold & SoulSilver | Pokemon HeartGold & SoulSilver Versions
Genre: F/M, Hints of Fluff, Promises, hints of angst, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 00:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivalSilver/pseuds/RivalSilver
Summary: Lance always keeps his promises.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonlightsmiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightsmiles/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Tasia!!!!!!! ILYSM AND YOU MEAN SO MUCH TO ME! I'M GLAD I WAS ABLE TO MEET YOU! <3

    She’s an enigma he can’t decipher.

    There is something about the way she smiles at him that brings a weird, yet warm sensation in his chest. He can’t pinpoint exactly _how_ she still manages to give him that effect, even after time has passed since their first encounter back at the lake.

* * *

    They meet when she’s at the fresh age of sixteen, having barely met the mark. He’s twenty-one, and already has achieved the glorious title of champion at such a young age – and it proves to be impressive, though he does not gloat about it to others. He doesn’t feel a need to mention that he’s in the league at all when they meet, as he approaches her after she effortlessly picks up the shiny, round capsule in her palm. The sight alone of her taming the pokémon that had been terrorizing the nearby area was enough to show that she’s like no other trainer he’s met in the past.

    He thought she was marvelous. Wonderful. Stunning.

    When Lyra looks up, she visibly pauses, lowering her hand with the pokéball. Lance doesn’t catch the way she hides her blush by looking downward as she tucks away the newest member of her team. Nor does he note the clutching of her overalls with her slim fingers at her sides, an effect only given due to the way his voice sounds. She is a pretty one, he’ll admit, though her choice of attire and the hairdo of two pigtails makes her appear younger than she actually is. He’s oblivious to the effect she has of him. In his surly, husky tone, he asks for help, which she immediately agrees to.

    It's cute, the way she tests his name when he introduces himself after questioning for her compliance. She has a soft voice, still peppered with a pitch that makes her sound younger than a sixteen-year-old, and he has to ask for her age just to make sure he isn’t recruiting a preteen to perform such a heavy, demanding task.

    Her name is one he hasn’t heard of – at least not anyone he knows – and the way it rolls off his tongue brings him such satisfaction. He mentally repeats Lyra’s name, _Lyra, Ly-ra, Lyyyraaa_ , in a quick tone, a soft one, a lazy one that stretches the vowels, and he blinks at the many ways it _could_ sound. It’s very pleasing, he concludes with a nod, and a friendly smile is flashed down at her.

    The champion departs, but not before promising her that he’ll be waiting for her at the hideout.

* * *

    She beats his record – his title – at just seventeen.

    When he offers to escort her away from the prying eyes of the professor and his co-host, Lance can’t help but feel genuinely happy. The _ex-champion_ eagerly awaits for her to arrive to snatch the title he had worked for, but he finds himself not feeling bitter when she actually does. It was not a title to selfishly hold, and it was only a matter of time before he had to surrender it. There was potential he saw in this girl that had conquered.

    She has earned it.

    Congratulating her, Lance allows just a bit of physical contact – hugs that express what words cannot. _I’m proud of you._ He squeezes her softly against his chest, and to his surprise, she’s returning the embrace with an equal, if not, a stronger grip. Her string of thank-yous are rather cute, a bit flustered. Finally, he drops his arms from her, though she keeps the embrace a bit longer, which makes him feel both awkward and pleasant. 

    Lyra manages to pull away, that bright smile beaming at him, rendering him speechless.

    She breaks the looming silence by asking him if he would be willing to visit her back at her home at New Bark.

    He silently promises with a nod of his head and a small smile.

* * *

    There is a weird sensation that he simply cannot identify when Lance sees _him_ at her little get-together in her home at New Bark. The feisty redhead, only a few years or so younger than himself, sneers in disapproval when Lance arrives, obviously rather bitter about his defeat. Lance can’t help the way his eyes narrow in hints of an annoyed scowl when the redheaded boy dares to scoff bitterly, then proceeds to insult Lyra with his foul mouth.

    It doesn’t help when Lyra merely shrugs off his verbal offenses and smiles at him sweetly. _That boy doesn’t deserve those smiles_ , the ex-champion mentally scolds her, but all he can do is bite at his inner cheek and cross his arms, his cape fluttering behind him. He forces his eyes to close once he watches Silver toss her more insults, this time with a playful smirk and eyes that dance with amusement. He knows the boy holds something for Lyra.

    Hints of annoyance arise within him. Lance knows that Silver has known Lyra a bit longer than himself, so it’s plausible that they have such a bond. Unlike himself, who has only seen Lyra a few times, the begging question of what exactly have they been through blares at his thoughts. His upper lip curls slightly in disapproval at the endless possibilities of an answer.

    Lance just doesn’t know why it causes such negative, contemptuous emotions to bloom inside of him. He doesn’t like it at all.

    With a look of triumph, he lets her name fall from his lips in a way that immediately ceases her interaction with Silver and she  _ditches_ the fiery redhead to approach him. He doesn’t acknowledge nor ignore the icy glare Silver throws at his direction, but he tells himself that he isn’t stooping to his level, and resists the urge to return it.

    Silver is no longer the center of his attention once his vision fills with soft brown that lures him in. The pair of browns are bright, beaming with youth and excitement. With an amused half-smile that tugs at his lips, he asks Lyra what her plans for the future are, now that she holds the title many trainers strive to master, and to his surprise, she blurts out that she wishes to head to Kanto.

    How bizarre. How wrong he was to think that she would actually _stay_ cooped up at the league. Of course, it hits him, she wants more. The challenger count at the league is not an impressive one, but he thinks it’s a good thing, since it merely expresses how tough the Johto League is. It’s every day that people receive Falkner’s badge, but hardly does Clair ever give hers out.  

    But _Kanto_? She’s really going down there as well? Lance’s mouth twitches into a frown as she explains in glossed over details about how she plans to gather the remaining eight gym badges and climb up Mount Silver. What would she do there, other than find _him_?

    The ex-champion doesn’t like it. The pit of his stomach churns with a queasy uneasiness at the mere idea of Lyra’s intentions. He hopes deep down that she doesn’t end up with Red or takes his place and become the newest isolated trainer.

    He can’t prohibit her from such things, as he has no right to do so, and it _shouldn’t be_ any of his business to pry into, but he can at least influence her. He can’t let her go just like that.

    So, he tells her in his soothing voice to return to the league once she gets all other badges for a rematch. Perhaps he can bet her decision and have her stay here – right where she belongs. Lance forms a gentle, small smile once the brunette confidently shakes his hand, sealing their deal.

    He promises her another battle that he knows she won’t regret.

* * *

    He hasn't seen Lyra since her departure almost two years ago.

    She’s eighteen when she steps into the familiar room that’s decorated with dragon pokémon and the like. It shocks him how fast time has escalated since their last encounter. She’s been so busy with Kanto and he’s been back at the league, taking on the familiar duties of his ex-title, that he almost forgets that _she’s_ the one who is champion.

    He notes that she’s grown just a bit more: she’s ditched the overalls for a more casual look of navy short-shorts and a garnet blouse; her pigtails are no longer, and instead, are opted into high ponytail; and she looks _much_ older now. The child-esque vibe is practically nonexistent now, and it leaves him in shock. It almost makes him feel like he’s seeing a completely different person, but the way her stance appears, and that smile that’s painted along her face reminds him that she’s still the same girl from back at the Lake of Rage.

    She’s as beautiful as ever. It actually tugs at his heart.

    The battle is amazing – she’s delivered in a way that no other trainer has ever, wiping the floor with him with the same team she’s stuck with since their last battle. Sixteen badges later, and Lyra has kicked him to the curb. It’s exhilarating.

    He struts to her, his long cape flowing behind him, and he gives her a grin of approval, congratulating her on her victory. She thanks him with a gentle hug and soft purrs of approval, and it takes all of his might not to cause an intimate scene. He returns the hug with one arm, pushing her to the side of his body as they praise each other’s work in the battlefield.

    To his dismay, she yanks herself away and turns to the exit, as if looking for something – or _someone_ – and he doesn’t ignore it. Perhaps she’s awaiting to actually take that interview with Oak. He internally groans at this; he hates interviews and how personal the questions get.

    His mouth opens to inform her that she’ll have to register once more at the Hall of Fame, which she happily agrees to. For a brief moment, he contemplates on grabbing her small hand, just to guide her, wondering if it is soft to the touch, but doesn’t. Instead, he lures her in with her name, and the tug of his cape, and he hears her footsteps as she catches up to him.

    She grips his arm and he pauses in alarm, gazing down, seeing nothing but a slight blush and her pink lips curved upward.

    When he takes her hand, he’s walking with confidence despite his loss, but he’s won a greater battle as they strut into the Hall of Fame.

    Their hands don’t break apart, either, and they stay together, even as she’s being registered. Lance stares at her as she marvels in on her record displayed at the monitor of her victory, her hand giving his own a squeeze at the emotion of success. Lance purses his lips slightly, unsure if he should interlace their fingers, as that was a more intimate gesture. Does she want this…?

    Lance breaks the silence, and gently tugs her so that she’s standing in front of him. Again, he asks what she wants to do now.

    He’s not surprised when she informs that she wants up that damn mountain, as she’s heard the rumors – now confirmed news – by Green’s mouth. Lance merely sighs in agitation. How much must he wait to _have_ her with him, being able to do such activities that don’t involve leagues or politics?

    Softly, he tucks brown hair behind her ear – such a gentle act – and he smirks at the reddish hue on her cheeks. Lifting her hand, he squeezes it, and presses her a bit firmly with words to return to him after she _beats_ Red (he knows she will). Her face is a deep shade of red when he presses his mouth to her forehead, and selfishly presses a chaste peck to her skin, whispering his promise to her.

    He quietly promises her that he’ll be waiting for her return.

    And for once, he blinks when she mimics his actions, leaning into him and uttering a promise of her own.

    She tells him she will return _for_ him.

* * *

    He’s heard the rumor from Green that she’s already departed to climb the mountain, and it causes him to scowl. It feels like just yesterday Lyra had battled him back at Indigo Plateau, and not three weeks. Her mother informs him one day, when he makes a quick drop-in at New Bark to deliver a parcel to Elm, that her daughter had taken a small break before departing up into the winter haven of a mountain.

    Curiously, he presses Lauren’s buttons for a bit more information on Lyra, but he doesn’t gain much. All she can provide was her odd, yet determining behavior days prior to her parting.

    A long sigh breezes through his mouth as he thanks her for the information, and he heads off back to the league, where a heap of paperwork and league meetings await his attendance and attention.

* * *

    Sometimes, he sits, and merely thinks, lost in his thoughts. And each day, he finds himself struggling to ignore them and continue on with his duties. It’s a dangerous, wary cycle that he has fallen into. His judgments aren’t the nicest, nor the healthiest, and he hates how engrossed he can easily get.

    Green has informed him that Red has traveled back down, much to the shock of everyone, and is now staying with his mother back in Pallet. Even Lance couldn’t hide the glaring aghast from his face when Green babbled on about it, sounding rather smug – a battle creeps under the Kanto native’s sleeve, no doubt.

    He reads Lance like an open book, so even before the topic arises, or mentioned through an interrogation, he shakes his head, and advises him what he fears. She’s still on the peak of Mount Silver. She’s _alone_.

    He contemplates on going after her himself, but he simply cannot shake this feeling of aggression and disappointment. She has _lied_ to him. She has broken her trusted word.

    There’s not much he can really do, after all, climbing up was pretty much suicide, _especially_ due to his area of specialty. He doesn’t think his team of dragons would keep up without harming themselves, which is the last thing that he wants.

    So, all he can do, is keep his end of the deal, which is nothing but a double-edged sword.

* * *

    Lance is a man that doesn’t need much to be convinced.

    He’s heard it all, from the redheaded boy climbing up to reach her to _Red_ doing so himself, but none of the attempts to wrench her down comply. He thinks that she won’t budge, and that she’ll isolate herself up on that freezing mountain.

    Time passes, and the hope he’s so desperately clung to has long dissipated.

    It’s like he’s champion once more, and the name Lyra is alien to him. Nobody had bothered anymore with her at this point, well thinking that she’s never coming down from there. Temporary routines turn permanent. Every now and then, he’ll go down to New Bark to meet with Elm or Oak, and he doesn’t even hold a single glint of optimism for the young woman’s return. He’s been persuaded that she won’t return.

    So, he promises himself that he won’t ever bother with notions that concern her, but he cannot help the crossing of his two fingers that betrays his word.

* * *

    He thinks he’s dreaming, when the day comes that Lyra steps foot into Indigo Plateau.

    It’s a mirage, he forces himself to believe, and he questions his sanity as his vermilion eyes narrow coldly at her. Lance can’t resist the hostility that bubbles within him, or the clenching of his fists, watching her stand at the entrance.

    How dare Lyra come back after neglecting herself and her friends, after leaving him hanging, having him completing _her_ work, performing her responsibilities… _Leaving_ him like that…

    Each footstep she takes disgusts him for having the nerve to bite back words he’s been desperately wanting to say, tainted with hurt and betrayal.

    Lance’s position is calm, his hands are at his sides, his cape and stoic face beaming with intimidation. He _wants_ to scare her, wants her to feel unwelcomed, and hurt.

    But both know he’s too good for that.

    It doesn’t take much to convince the dragon master, as Lyra throws herself into his chest, burying her face into his broad chest, and whispering an endless, thick string of choked apologies and rushing with self-loathing. Cold, ruthless insults are hissed from her trembling, pink lips, and not directed at him – oh no, she _knows_ she’s fucked up – but at herself for being so naïve. Lance stands through it all numbly, dumbfounded, the thoughts of disgust and bitter resent erasing as fast as a Crobat can fly through caves.

    Arceus, he can’t help the automatic response his body follows when she peers up, and glances into his soul with such glossy, doomful eyes that cloud with two words: _I’m sorry_. His strong arms raise up to return the embrace, unknowingly craving such warmth from her.

    He seeks for answers in her eyes, answers as to why she left, why she had _everyone_ worried sick for her well-being and safety, and just what she’s been trying to prove by cooping her lonely self at Mount Silver, but there are so many emotions that he cannot decipher – an enigma that has no easy riposte.

    And the wall he’s built at the cost of her acrimonious withdrawal crumbles when he nudges her forehead with his own. He’s still a bit taller than her, so he has to bend his knees a bit when he lowers himself to her eye level. All he feels afterwards are her soft lips when he murmurs that he’s been waiting for her. Pouring in, are nothing but feelings of pent up desire, longing, and such warm feelings that he cannot fathom. And when she returns the kiss, it easily convinces him that she’s kept up her promise from that one day.

    She’s returned.  


End file.
